Dear Ole Dad
by MrsEads
Summary: [Eventual GCR] Eddie isn't Lindsey's father. Oh no, he isn't.
1. My Suspicion

Author's Note: Okay, so I know this idea is really out there, and I think it may have been done before, but I had a dream about it (isn't that weird?) and I really just had to write it. It's okay if y'all hate it, because I'm not even really sure what to think of it myself. It's written from Catherine's point of view, and doesn't take place at any particular time, just when Lindsey's about twelve, maybe eleven, maybe thirteen. That general time frame. There will be eventual GCR (by the way, this is my first attempt at that too, so bear with me). Also, I know it's really short, but this is as far as I want to go just to get a feel for it. And I'd like to know your thoughts before I go any further.

* * *

Lindsey is playing with bugs.

What's gotten into her, I'll never know. But there she is, lying on her stomach in our backyard, surrounded by luscious green grass, poking various bugs that walk in front of her. She's been lying there for over an hour, and she's not bored yet. Well, she doesn't appear to be.

It's almost suppertime. I'm expecting Gil any second now for dinner. Right on cue, the doorbell rings. I go to answer it and there stands the most enigmatic man I know, holding a bottle of wine.

"Hi, Gil," I say. "Come on in."

"Hey, Catherine," he replies as he steps inside. "I brought this for you," he says as he hands me the wine.

"Thank you," I say.

"Smells great in here," he comments. "What are you cooking?"

"Lasagna," I answer. I know it's his favourite, and Lindsey loves all sorts of pasta and casseroles too. I never much cared for the stuff myself, but I know how much Gil likes it.

"My favourite," he answers, just as I knew he would.

I go to the sliding glass door at the back of the house and open it. "Lindsey!" She doesn't respond. She's been doing that more and more lately. I think it's her lame way of trying to be defiant, or independent, or something like that. "Lindsey!" I call again, this time a little louder. She still doesn't respond. Either she's ignoring me or she's pretty engrossed in some bug.

Gil, who has followed me to the back of the house, asks, "What's she looking at?"

I shrug. "I don't know what's gotten into her. She's obsessed with bugs."

His eyes light up. "I'm going to go see what she's looking at," Gil says. Typical Gil. He never passes up a chance to look at bugs. He slides the glass door open the rest of the way and goes out to see her.

Meanwhile, the oven starts beeping and I pull the lasagna out. Hmmm. Not quite done. I put it back in and set the timer for another eight minutes. I peer out the window and laugh. I can see Gil letting a bug crawl all over his arm as he enthusiastically tells Lindsey all he knows about it – which, I realize, could take a lot longer than the eight minutes it will take for the lasagna to finish cooking. What really astounds me is that Lindsey is intently listening to every word he says, absorbing all the information she possibly can. Too bad she doesn't apply herself the same way in school.

I spend the next while just watching the two of them together in the backyard. A loud beep startles me out of the wondering and pondering I had been doing, and I open the oven door to see that the lasagna is finished.

"Hey, you guys!" I call. "Dinner's ready!" Gil gently puts the bug back on a blade of grass and he gets up. I notice that he has to tap Lindsey on the shoulder to get her to stand up too. Gil continues to talk to her the whole fifteen feet back to the house about whatever bug it was. Finally, he shuts up as the three of us sit down to dinner.

Conversation flows naturally between us, despite the age differences. Occasionally, I notice that Lindsey is being very quiet and paying way too much attention to her food, and I have to say her name a few times before she reincludes herself in our conversation. This is the third time she's done that this week. Now, I'm starting to have a few suspicions.

Gil always stays late whenever he comes over, and as a result, he is still here long after I make Lindsey got to bed.

I bring up my concern to Gil once I know for sure that Lindsey's asleep and she can't hear us.

"Gil," I say tentatively, "Was Lindsey acting weird with you out there?"

"Weird how?"

"Did she seem like she was straining for anything while you were talking to her?" I ask. I'm trying not to give away my suspicion, but even the great Gil Grissom, who is the most socially awkward man alive, knows me better than that.

"Straining…to hear?" he clarifies.

I gulp and nod.

"Every once in a while, yeah. But only for a few seconds, and it only happened two or three times," he says.

Now I'm nervous. I think Gil can see it.

"Catherine…" he says, shifting his hands on his coffee cup, "What are you getting at?"

I take a deep breath. No beating around the bush now.

"I think Lindsey may be your daughter."

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Author's Note: Confused? Don't worry, all will be explained next chapter! And next chapter may come sooner if I get reviews! 


	2. What Gil Thinks

Author's Note: I am absolutely floored with the response I got to this story! Huge thanks go to everybody for your support. Again, this chapter is short, and for that I apologize. I don't know when they'll get longer, but for now, this seems like it might start to be the normal length. Really, I appreciate every single review!

And, as always, my replies to all you anonymous reviewers:

To **Your Spell-Binding Lover**: I'm glad you did the Squee! thing. That usually means you like it, I've noticed. :P This one will be pretty light, I think. Let's just say that Gil won't have the same reaction here as he does in We've Come A Long Way, Baby. Thank you, as always, for your review!

To **Jana**: Glad you're interested! Thank you for reviewing!

To **xuanny87**: Yeah, Catherine doesn't seem like the type to beat around the bush too much. Thank you for reviewing!

* * *

Gil shifts uncomfortably in the overstuffed armchair in which he's sitting. Lowering his voice and peering around nervously as though to make absolute sure there's nobody there, he leans in towards me and says, "Catherine…that was just one night, a long time ago."

"I know," I acknowledge. Oddly enough, he doesn't seem too freaked out – or even surprised – at what I've just told him. "It was a long time ago," I agree. "Fourteen years ago. When I was still dancing, before I was a CSI. And you know as well as anyone that one night can be all it takes."

He nods his head and stares at my feet. "So, you think that – if Lindsey's mine – that she inherited my otosclerosis?"

I nod as I take another sip of my coffee. "Among other things," I add.

"Like what?"

I stare at him. Could he be any more oblivious? But I love him for it. "Like your unnatural interest in bugs, your inexplicable love of lasagna, your refusal to comply with the rules, your political tone-deafness, your curiosity…" I trail off.

When I say that Lindsey is politically tone-deaf, Gil perks up. "How so?" he asks.

"Oh," I say. "She was at school and decided to run for class president."

Gil laughs and says, "Where have I heard that before?"

I laugh too and continue, "Well, you know how they make speeches and they promise things and stuff like that?" He nods in agreement. "She told them that she couldn't get vending machines in the cafeteria, and that she couldn't end the war on Iraq, and…well, she basically told them all the things that other people had promised, but said she couldn't do them."

"So what did she say?" Gil asks.

I try to hold back laughter. "She promised that she'd be the best president anyway. She probably would have been, too, but she didn't convince the people of that. She was honest, but evidently that's not what her classmates wanted. No, they wanted no homework and they wanted free iPods, and they wanted this and they wanted that, and none of it Lindsey could promise them. And she told them that."

"So how does that make Lindsey politically tone-deaf?" Gil asks.

He is so precious. I can hardly keep from laughing. "Sometimes, you just have to tell the people what they want to hear, you know?"

Gil sits there with a confused look on his face. "Why?"

_Now_ I laugh. It's just too funny. "Never mind. She's just a lot like you, that's all."

Gil nods again as though he's not in the least surprised that I think that Lindsey might be his. "What do you want to do about it?" Gil asks, finally looking me in the eye.

I have to consider my answer carefully. Obviously, he knows that I've been attracted to him at some point, but does he know that I always have been, and that I still harbour feelings towards him? I don't want to give that away – just yet – but at the same time, what if he's still interested in me? If I say that I don't care what happens next, then maybe I ruin any chance I might have with him. But if I say I'm still interested, I risk embarrassment and straining the relationship we already have. So, I decide to play it safe and limit my answer strictly to Lindsey. "At this point," I say, "I want to know if she's yours."

Gil nods. "How likely do you think it is that if we asked Greg to run my DNA against hers, he'd keep it a secret?" he asks.

I think about this for a second. My first instinct is to say, "I think the chances of that are slim to none," but as I think about it, Greg is a pretty decent guy. To be honest, I think he'd keep his mouth shut if we asked him to. I say, "I think he'd keep it a secret if we asked him to…and if we threatened him with his job."

Gil laughs. "He knows we can't do that." I shrug and sip my coffee. Gil also continues, "We'd have to make sure he'd keep quiet; not just for us personally, but professionally as well. I mean, you have used the lab for paternity testing before, and we both know how well our good old lab director took that. Imagine how Ecklie would react if he found out you did it a second time."

"You have a point," I acknowledge. "Maybe we should just send out for it."

I can see the gears in Gil's head turning as he contemplates what I've said. "But do you really want to wait that long for it?" he asks.

"Not really," I confess. "But if it's between my job and a few weeks, guess which one I'd take?"

"Yeah, I know what you mean," Gil agrees, taking another slow sip of his coffee.

The issue seems to need no further discussion, and I'm relieved that Gil didn't freak out over this whole notion of mine. He's very calm about it, actually, but I suppose that doesn't really surprise me. Nothing fazes Gilbert Arthur Grissom.

We've known each other for so long that we're able to spend a long while in a comfortable silence without it getting awkward. Eventually, long after midnight (we both have the night off), Gil looks at his watch and says, "I think I'm going to head home."

"Alright," I say. I'm not surprised. Unlike Sara, Gil needs to sleep every night. "Thank you for coming," I say while I escort him to the front door.

"Thank you for supper and coffee," he returns. "It was delicious."

"My pleasure," I say with a smile. "I'll see you at work tomorrow."

"Okay." He says, "Goodnight," and turns to go.

"Night," I say, and close the door behind him. I turn and lean against the closed door, breathing a sigh of relief. That went much better than it could have. Gil almost seemed happy to think about the possibility of Lindsey being his…ours.

Tomorrow, I'll phone a paternity testing lab and figure out what I need to do.

* * *

Author's Note: Well, that's Chapter Two for ya! Thanks for reading…please review? Please oh please? 


	3. My Concern

Author's Note: Hey, y'all! Firstly, let me offer my humblest apologies for the very long wait. Secondly, let me thank you all for hanging in there. And thirdly, I think there may have been a couple of reviews that I missed and didn't get to reply to. So, I apologize to anyone I missed, and please don't be offended – it's not personal. With that said…

To **Your Spell-Binding Lover**: I've learned that the "Squee!" is always a good sign. :P Most likely they'll all be in Catherine's, but I'll think about maybe doing a few in Gil's. Thank you for reviewing!

To **Sebi**: I'm so glad to hear that you like it. I sure hope you continue to enjoy it…and review…-hint hint-. Thank you for reviewing!

* * *

It's the end of shift, and I knock on Gil's office door. He looks up from some papers on his desk.

"Hey, Cath," he says. "Did you get the results back yet on our…_case_?" My guess is he's trying to be subtle about it, and he's not doing a very good job.

"No, not yet," I say. I decide to tell him the truth. "Actually, that's what I came here to talk to you about."

"Oh?" he asks, arching an eyebrow and removing his glasses, only breaking eye contact with me for an instant.

Wringing my hands, I walk a few steps into his office. Gesturing back at the door, I ask if I may close it and he tells me that that would be fine. I close it and come right out with what's been on my mind. "Actually…I haven't even sent it out yet."

Gil, as always, manages to maintain the same stoic look on his face, and somehow, beyond my comprehension, doesn't look surprised.

I'm not quite sure how to continue. How can I tell him how I feel? I can barely explain it to myself! How can I tell him that I don't want to know if he's Lindsey's father because it means that if we ever started a relationship, I'd never know if it was just because he was being a good father, or (dare I say it?) he actually loved me? How can I explain that after what I put Eddie through for cheating on me, I could never bear the guilt of facing the fact that I had, just once, cheated on Eddie? These are things I can hardly explain to myself. How can I possibly explain them to another (supposedly) human being? And then, of course, there's the whole issue of what I would tell Lindsey. Seriously, I've messed her up enough without giving her a new father.

I choose my words carefully as I sit down and begin to speak. "You know, when I first found out that Eddie cheated on me, I was _mad_. Do you know what I did?"

Gil shrugs.

"I slapped him on the face. Pounded his chest a few times. I yelled at him – a _lot_. Clawed his arms – broke a nail doing it, too. Hurt like hell." I chuckle wryly. "I threw things at him – a vase, a tennis ball, the TV remote. A few of his CD cases. Damn near picked up Lindsey and hucked her at him!" I laugh again, but this time, I mean it. "The point is, Gil, I was **_mad_**. And the whole neighbourhood knew it, too, Lindsey included." Here comes the tricky part. I'd better be careful what I say and how I say it. "She saw all of it, up close and personal, though she was too young to understand what we were fighting about. There is no doubt in my mind that she remembers that fight." I lean forward a bit. "Gil, let's be blunt with each other." I stress the next thing I say. "_I cheated on Eddie with you_." I stop for a minute. I'm not quite sure what to say next, but thankfully, Gil fills in the blanks.

"So you think that now, she'd understand the fight between you and Eddie, and she'd recognize the hypocrisy," he says, more as a statement than as a question.

I sigh in relief. "Glad we understand each other."

You know, people always criticize Gil for not being observant to human nature. And, for the most part, he's not. But every once in a while, he surprises me. Now is one such time.

"Would you rather get it tested and not tell Lindsey?"

I sigh in relief again. That must be enough, because he nods and looks back down at the papers on his desk. I lean forward curiously and, and, changing the subject, ask, "What do you have there?"

He holds up the paper. "Ecklie's been on my case all week about these stupid things. It's evaluation season again."

"Ah…" I say, knowing exactly how he feels about Ecklie and evaluations (and sharing many of the same opinions). I know that if it were up to him, Gil wouldn't do evaluations. He'd rather just deal with problems as they arise (which for the most part, he does). "What did you say about me?" I tease.

"Actually, I haven't done yours yet. This is Nick's."

I might as well ask, now that we're on the subject. "Could you do my evaluation _before_ I send out the test?" I hurry to add, "I mean, I know that you're not biased, and you're practically the most objective person on the team, but I'd feel better about it."

"Sure," he assures. "I'll do yours next."

"Alright. Let me know when we have to do our little interview thing, okay? I have to get home to Linds."

"Say hi to her for me," Gil requests.

"Will do," I promise as I rise out of the chair. Feeling as though I can breathe again because I'm so relieved, I leave his office.

* * *

Author's Note: I hate to say it, but I'm going to disappear again for a while. Please enjoy the chapter, and I promise that I will be back! Thank you in advance to those of you who review! 


	4. Result?

**Author's Note:** No, I have no excuse for my absence. Except accidentally destroying my laptop, being constantly in exam mode, and a bad case of writer's block. And general laziness, to be honest. This is just a short in-betweener to let you know the truth! Hopefully I'll have another chapter (a REAL chapter) up before June.

* * *

So here I am, holding the envelope in my hands. The results are inside, and only one little strip of self-adhesive paper stands between me and knowing the truth about Lindsey's paternity.

One little piece of paper.

Just one.

Just put your fingernail under the edge and tear it open. It's not hard to do, Catherine.

So why is it so hard to do?

I take a deep breath and obey my own command. As I pull the papers out of the envelope, I close my eyes in some kind of attempt to know the results without reading them.

If I read them, then they're real. They're true. I can't rationalize anymore, I can't reason my way out of them, I can't deny them anymore.

If I read them, then the way I look at Lindsey will be different. I'll know for sure whether she's the mistaken offspring of a cream-faced loon without the sense of responsibility to look after what's just as much his as it is mine, or the daughter of a genius who admits when he's wrong and rectifies the situation; a man who's willing to eat crow when he needs to; a man who is already quadruple the man that Eddie could ever have begun to hope maybe to become.

If I read the results, the way I look at myself will change. I'll forever have a living, breathing, blonde reminder of my hypocrisy. I'll always know – even if she never does – what I did.

I think I already know what the result is. I can almost smell the ink on the page; can feel the threads in the paper. It's as though the words are whispering themselves in my ear.

I think I already know.

I think I do.

I do. Maybe.

Open your eyes and find out for sure.

Open them.

I do. I open my eyes and scan the page.

It's as I thought. One night really is all it takes, I suppose.


End file.
